Food of Love
by Hildwyn
Summary: Gillington. Food is the inspiration for Norrington and Gillette, especially when they wish to get some time alone.


This story was initially intended as crackfic, and as such, historical accuracy was far from a main focus of this fic. But it did go slightly more serious than intented. Inspired by a board I'm on where as Norrington, I'm the English Muffin, and Gillette is my Irish Cream.

Title by my wonderful friend and beta, Lady Patriot.

This story contains slash, so if you do not like that, then please, do not read it.

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Food of Love

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Once upon a time there were two lovers whose pastry and whiskey-inspired love had never before been seen in the world, and never since equaled. Their love was a flaky, sugary, buttery, cholesterol heightening, artery clogging, heart-attack inducing love. Motivated by the love of their countries, and of their foods, the two had never expected in the world to find out that their soul mates were of kindred tastes. Their love was greater than that between chocolate and peanut butter, more sweet than that between pie and ice cream, better than mixing relish and mayonnaise to dip one's hot fried fish in. In short(ening), their's was a culinary and brewed arts story to make even the most hardened of sea pirates cry.

"My Irish Cream."

"My English Muffin."

"Oh my God.... if I hear that one more time, I think I'm going to spew chunks."

Immediately the red-haired, fiery-tempered, stereotyped Irish officer Lieutenant Andrew Gillette, averted his love filled gaze from his amour, regretful immediately for the loss of his pleasing face and muffin-like lips before his eyes, to turn to the naysayer in the cabin.

"If only you knew the taste of my English muffin, how delectable and soft he is, and how good he tastes slathered in strawberry jam, then you would not speak thusly of True Love."

Restraining the urge for his breakfast to make a repeat appearance (and in far more tasteful terms than he himself stated previously), Lieutenant Theodore Groves, cried out and covered his eyes.

"It is not that I'm happy for you two, it's just I do not need to know what you two get up to the when you two are alone. In fact, I quite insist upon **not** knowing."

"My lovely Irish Cream," the other, the bright green-eyed sometimes blue-eyed man, though portrayed by a man with brown eyes, who's entirely tall and lanky frame was draped with the finest royal navy blue, and the shiniest gold, and whose stately white wig made women wet and men stand to attention, Commodore James Norrington said, "while I admire your sentiments in trying to explain to this non-believer the beauty and destiny inherent in our love, I would not willingly let him drink of your sweet creamy goodness, to allow myself to be parched and dry, alone and unloved and fated to slowly turn green and grow smelly for want of being used roughly."

"Too much information!" Groves interjected, growing alarmed by the look in both Norrington's and Gillette's eyes, and how close they were getting to each other, how Norrington looked like he was ready to imbibe his lieutenant, and the lieutenant in turn, had his hand on the other's thigh, looking all for the world like he was ready to start kneading the man.

"I am drunk on my love of you," Norrington said.

"Nothing can satisfy my hunger like you," Gillette responded.

"I'm going to leave now," Groves said standing, and exiting the cabin as quickly as he could, though as far as he knew, neither of the other two even noticed his absence.

Just short of starting what was bound to be a food fest of pornographic proportions, the two pulled back and burst out in peals of laughter.

"English muffin?" Norrington asked, clearly amused by the name.

"You started it," Gillette answered, "and I had to at least try to top 'Irish Cream'".

"Well I'm so glad to know that the best you could think of was comparing me to a perpetually dry and altogether boring pastry."

"Well _I _prefer to spend my ample wit on insulting others, not coming up with disgustingly sweet pet names for my lover in an attempt to gain some privacy."

"And to think, I could have made reference to your hair being like carrots, or beets, or--" Norrington was cut off by an affronted Gillette.

"Lover or no, I would have to kill you for that."

"Such a way to treat your commanding officer."

"Who completely stated rather overtly that he'd rather be dominated."

"I did no such thing!"

"'For want of being treated roughly?'" Gillette said, his tone clear that it was how anyone with a mediocrum of intelligence should have interpreted it.

"Does not imply anything of the sort."

"I'll prove it."

"You will do no such thing," Norrington said. As the words left his mouth, there was a quick clicking sound, and he tried to move his hand only to find that Gillette had, in what seemed to be an impossibly short amount of time, cuffed him to the table with irons.

"Fuck."

"And I intend to do exactly that."


End file.
